


Dance with Me

by The_Mad_Hatter



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst, Coco Locos Angst Off, Coco Locos Angst Off 2018, F/M, no happy ending, rebuilding relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 15:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16307720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Mad_Hatter/pseuds/The_Mad_Hatter
Summary: Héctor and Imelda rebuild their relationship in the land of the dead, but nothing they can do will stop him being forgotten.





	Dance with Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Coco Locos Angst off, using the Prompt “Listen to me. Listen. Please.”

The first time he saw Imelda in the Land of the Dead she had screamed at him, he'd been notified his wife had died by the Department of Family Reunions and asked to come collect her, he ran all the way from Shantytown after quickly throwing on his best clothes, a smart ensemble he had bought a few years ago and kept for this very occasion, he even picked out a jacket in her favourite shade of purple. 

He had barely taken one step into the room when her eyes locked onto him, beaming at her and ready to snatch her up into his arms and she had let out an almighty yell, words of hate and fury spitting past her lips to which he could only shrink back in fear from. 

Imelda didn't want to talk to him, to see him and she certainly wasn't going home with him, the staff quietly suggested he should leave. 

Alright, so maybe she was angry, he knew his wife well enough to know when he shouldn't push her, he just needed to give her time to cool down, to get used to everything, being newly dead was an huge change after all, goodness knows how long it had taken him to get used to his own reflection after death. 

After a few weeks he showed up on her doorstep, where she was currently staying with her parents, once again wearing his fresh smart suit and holding a bouquet of dahlias in his hand, they had always been her favourite flower growing up, so much as a boy he had once spent an entire day tracking down the flowers out in the fields so he could present her them. She had opened the door and taken one look at him before her gaze fell on the bouquet, faster than he could blink her boot had been in her hand smacking his head clean off and tumbling down the street. By the time he had pulled himself together the door had been slammed shut and the flowers were crushed into ruin on the ground.

He gave it some more time before his next approach and once again she rejected him, screamed in his face without letting him get more than a single word out. 

He tried again, and she still rejected him, and the next time, and the next.

Again and again and again. 

The passage of time took its toll on his once pristine new suit, the purple he'd chosen to please his wife faded and dull, with the jacket falling apart and one sleeve already lost, his fresh white shirt long since stained, torn and thrown away, his trousers ragged and getting closer to becoming shorts everyday. 

It had been ten years, and Imelda had never let him say anything more than a hello, Rivera Shoes were doing wonderfully, she was quickly becoming a local favourite for anyone needing new footwear and he couldn't help but be proud of her. At least grateful she had done well enough for herself, but still, what he wouldn't give just to be able to talk to her again. 

He let out a sigh, his fingers already moving against the strings into the next song without much thought behind them, his tired eyes flickering down to the guitar case at his feet with a few pesos gifted to him by strangers, now if he could just earn a little more money he would go home tonight with enough food for his friends, maybe even a treat or two for the kids. His bones creaked wearily as he shifted where he perched on a low wall on the edge of a busy market place, idly watching people out on their own business. At first he almost didn't notice the giant brightly coloured hulking mass coming towards him, as he stared on ahead, and he jolted in surprise when he found two yellow eyes staring at him, his fingers falling silent on the strings. 

“Pepita!” Imelda called, walking briskly to catch up with her Alebrije, “Pepita come away from there!” 

Oh, even all this time later it was still startling how much simply the sound of her voice hurt. 

“What are you.... Héctor...” She growled, and he winced, refusing to meet her gaze and nearly curling up around the guitar he had borrowed from Chich.

“Holá....” He nodded, with a slight tip of his hat. “I... er, how have you be-”

She cut off his small talk with a wave of her hand and a vicious look in her eye. “What are you doing here?” 

His eyes flickered down to the guitar in his lap and back. “Uh? Playing?” 

“No, what are you doing here? So close to my home when you know I have a court order that says you can't come near?” 

He pouted. “I can't help it if all the foot traffic is nearby to you, this is one of the best places to play.” Besides, I've been here longer than you, he wanted to add bitterly. 

Risking a peek at her he could see her mind ticking over. “So, I see you never did get a real job then?” 

“Hmm, guess not.” He really wasn't in the mood for confrontations, he just wanted to earn his money and get home, although it was a miracle that Imelda was speaking to him, and choosing to continue to do so, or even just look at him, but yesterday he had held a child in his arms as he was forgotten, he didn't feel quite stable enough to deal with this, or much of anything, right now. 

“Tsk, my mama was right, músicos are pathetic.” And with that she turned sharply on her heel, ready to stomp away. 

“You say that like you hate me now.” He couldn't help but grumble back, watching as she snapped back around with fury in her eyes.

“Of course I hate you, do you ever even think about how much you made me suffer? How much pain you put my daughter through? You think it's acceptable for a man to abandon his wife and child when he grows bored of them? Was that it? Were we not exciting enough for you? Or did you have another woman? More than one? Perhaps not even a brothel full of whores could keep your wandering eye.”

“Ay! What are you even talking about? Another woman? Imelda I don't-” He put the guitar down against the wall, ready to defend himself when she cut him off. 

“Don't play games with me Héctor! You can't just run off on your family and then pretend innocence! For at least once in your miserable existence do not try to laugh this off!”

“Wait! Run off? I didn't, Imelda you know where I went! I wrote you letters, remember? I was sending you a letter at least once a week, sometimes more, you used to worry I was spending all my food money on postage.” He had been too, he thought bitterly, maybe that's how he ended up eating cheap tainted food.

“What letters? The ones you got bored so quickly of writing? You only kept that up for the first few months or so, I tell you it broke Coco's heart when they stopped coming, was that when you decided you were tired of us?”

Something clicked in his mind at her words, Coco was waiting for more letters? He only stopped because of the accident... “Imelda... exactly how old do you think I am?” He spoke carefully, tasting out the question himself, this wasn't something he had ever considered before in all his years wondering why Imelda had never put his photo up during Dia de los Muertos, why she had always been so furious with him. 

She blustered, clearly caught out by the unexpected question. “Pah! And what does that even mean? Who cares what damned age-”

“Imelda, this is important, tell me.” 

She near growled out on her next breath, but even in her anger she had apparently decided to humour him. “Well you certainly still do not look mature, but knowing you it could be possible you were one hundred years old and still not have a shred of dignity.” 

He ignored the jab and hissed out. “I'm twenty-one, Imelda.” 

“What? What nonsense are you talking about now? You were that old when you left-”

“I didn't leave, I died.” 

“... That's … that's not right, Ernesto would have told me! He- he would have sent me a letter! He would have sent your body home!” 

Héctor winced, his best friend hadn't told anybody he had died? And where did that mean he was buried? Apparently not back in Santa Cecilia, did he even have anyone at his funeral? “... It's true, I died in 1921.” She scoffed at him, turning her back on him until he moved quickly, grabbing at her hand. “Listen to me! Listen. Please. I'm telling you the truth.” 

“And so what if it's true? If it even is? You leave me with a child to raise and I'm just supposed to forgive you?” 

“I always wanted to come home, to see you and Coco again.” His hand slipped into his pouch tied to his rope belt, carefully removing a piece of paper and unfolding it before offering it to her. “But it's still my fault I didn't, I wish I had never left in the first place. I'm sorry Imelda.” 

Her eyes roamed over the paper before widening at the realisation of what it was, a train ticket.  
Mexico City to Santa Cecilia, written in the neat script of whatever station worker had sold it to him, and then the date. 

December 15th 1921. 

Just a few short days after his last letter, she knew, the dates on those damned letters would be forever burnt into her memory. 

“I got sick just as I was coming home.” He murmured, his voice gentle, and for once she was listening to what he was saying, willing to maybe believe. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So this is where you live?” She called, eyeing the murky water beneath her feet with disdain. They had been doing an awful lot of talking recently, first it was just to get facts straightened out, then it had been to try to calm each other of the years of painful emotions, the short talks became longer, less harsh and sweeter, then talks eventually began turning into little dates. Still, he had never shown her Shantytown in the past few weeks they had been communicating, but she had insisted, she wanted to know where exactly he had been all these years. 

“Yup.” He smirked, swaggering his way towards his home, full of fake confidence. “Ah, here we are! Home sweet home!” He turned and offered his hand to guide her across the two near rotten board planks that lead to his door, opening it and leading her inside. 

Imelda's eyes took a second to adjust to the dimness inside before she realised, she was staring out at the lake. “...This is it?” She asked stunned, glancing about. There wasn't a back wall, or even much that counted for side walls for that matter. Just the one wall that blocked the view from the main town walkway, a overreaching ceiling and what had been the side walls only covered the space of a few feet. There was a hammock in the shelter beneath the ceiling, some trunks and boxes containing who knows what and a few books scattered across the floor. 

“Yeah it's not much but... it's not much.” He coughed awkwardly, his fingers gripping at his other wrist. 

“Right, pack what you need, you're coming back with me.” She spoke after a long moment, holding her head up high. 

“I... what?” 

“This... this isn't a home Héctor! And the very idea of a Rivera being in such a place is disgraceful.”

“Oh... um, I'm ready now, I don't … really have anything to take.” At her questioning stare he attempted to smile. “You know, best to travel light, eh?” 

“Not even in those?” She nodded to the things around on the floor. 

“That stuff isn't mine, I've just... been looking after it since their owners have gone, but if I let Chelo know she'll take them.” He shrugged. “So if you want we can go-” He paused at a scream nearby, both he and Imelda rushing out through the door to see a small crowd gathered around a prone form laying out in front of the bungalow opposite. 

“Oh god no, it's Clarisa.” His face was pained and when she tried to move past him towards the strange flickers of light he caught her in his arms and pulled her into his chest. “Don't look, Imelda.” She blinked in shock, it was the most he had touched her since they had started spending time together, and she couldn't help but wonder what was so bad that it would prompt this behaviour. 

“Please! Please I don't want to go! Help me!” It was the voice of a terrified, painfully young girl. She wiggled in his arms, peering out and watching, grabbing his hand when he tried to cover her eyes, watching as the people around her tried to comfort her, but she was still crying. Héctor held her until the girl disappeared with a wave of light and dust. 

“What? What just happened?” She questioned, looking between him and the empty space on the floor. 

“She's been forgotten.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the years they grew closer, and to Héctor it felt like when they had been newly weds, in love and learning to live together, sometimes if he closed his eyes and pretended hard enough at night it was like they were back home in Santa Cecilia, Imelda warm and soft sleeping in his arms. Sometimes he would wake from his dreams hearing their baby daughter crying, he would move to get up with a yawn ready to spend another few sleepless hours rocking his baby back to sleep when his mind would click back in time and he remembered, they were dead and Coco wasn't here. 

There were many nights where he would sit on the edge of their bed, Imelda sleeping contently while he stared at his skeletal hands and missed his daughter more with every passing day. 

“Do we have to be here?” He asked, glancing to his wife as she sat beside him in the hospital waiting room, this place was quieter than its contepart in the living world, he mused, with doctor's only being able to treat bone problems or phantom pains, no flesh or diseases to deal with. 

“Yes, you haven't been right recently.” Imelda nodded, though she gave him a tender smile and took his hand in hers. They had been noticing something wasn't quite right, hadn't been for a while and it seemed to be getting progressively worse. His bones were starting to be discoloured, they would rattle loudly as if the bonds holding them together had been stretched loose. 

He knew what the signs meant, he'd spent enough years in Shantytown, but he hadn't found a way of explaining it to Imelda or coming up with a convincing enough lie to cover it before she had made up her mind and booked the appointment. He supposed it made sense, there was hardly anyone left in the living world who had known him in life, all his childhood friends had grown old and passed over, he knew the day when Oscar and Felipe had died, it had burned through him painfully as their memories were lost. 

“I'm sorry … you are being forgotten and there isn't anything we can do for you.” He nodded silently as he took in the doctor's words, he had known, but having it said aloud hurt. 

Imelda had screamed, furious and scathing until she had stormed out, her hand tight around his and took them back home. 

“Um? Amor? What are you doing?” He finally asked when they were safe in their kitchen and the rage had dampened down into silent fuming as she ripped out a phone directory from the bookcase and started flicking through it. 

“I'm going to find you another doctor! That man is clearly a fool with no idea what he is talking about.” 

“Imelda.” He sighed, stepping in front of her, she wouldn't even look at him. “Imelda.” He tried again, she slapped his hand away when he tried to take the book away. “Imelda listen to me!” 

“No!” She finally glared at him, tears in her eyes. “This is wrong! The doctor, you, all of its wrong! There's another doctor, one that can fix this!” 

“...Imelda it's okay, just give me the book.” He pulled it away, letting it drop to the floor and tried wrangling her into his arms. 

“But this is my fault! He said when people don't pass on your stories... I never talked about you or-” She was becoming hysterical, hands flailing about until he caught them. 

“This is my fault, not yours. I've known for years this would come.” 

She was shaking her head, tears beginning to slip down her face. “But- But I did this to you! To us...” She was weeping, shoulders trembling and face tiltled down. “Please... please tell me what I can do to fix this, what can I do to make this better?” 

He sighed before giving her a soft smile. “Dance with me.” 

She came into his arms, hiding her face against his chest and hands locked into his vest as he gently swayed them, humming a soft tune. He had decided decades ago he couldn't ever blame her, there had been anger, bitterness, but in the end he decided he wanted to spend whatever time they could have together in peace. Blaming each other wouldn't change anything, it wouldn't make things better. 

“... People disappear when they're forgotten... I saw it, I saw that girl.” She sobbed and he could only nod, tightening his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

He had the love of his life in his arms again, maybe it was all worth it just to have this again, if he could just hold onto this moment forever he would be happy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We're going now amor, be sure to get some rest and I'll bring you home all the Pan De Muerto you could possibly eat.” He glanced up from the book in his hands, propped against the pillows of their bed as Imelda came in, smoothing down her hair. He smiled at her, though his face surely showed how tired he was, he hadn't been feeling well the last few hours, until she and the rest of the family had forced him to bed early. 

It was coming, he knew it was. 

“Promise me you'll have a good time, and send Coco my love.” He kissed her when came to his side and leaned down meet his lips. There was no photo of him on their family Ofrenda, he had never been able to join them on Dia De Los Muertos, they had brought him back photos of the family, of Coco and he had spent days crying going through the family albums with them, but it was never the same. 

“Of course.” Imelda soothed, stroking her thumb across his cheekbone, and smiling at his relaxed face when he leaned into it. 

“Imelda... I...” He paused, trying to swallow around what felt like a tight throat, he knew and he wanted to tell her so much, he wanted to tell her what was going to happen, to curl up against her and cry in her arms, beg her to stay and hold him at the end. 

“Yes, amor?” 

“... I love you.” He felt ashamed, but not when she smiled so warmly at him, or when she gave him another kiss. He wanted her to be happy, give her one more nice evening with the family, he couldn't hurt her this way. 

“I love you too, now get some rest and we'll be back at dawn.” 

With that she was gone, he heard the front door shut as they all left and if he had the energy would have watched them leave from the window, but he had to make do with snuggling further down into the bed, he was so tired. 

He didn't know how long it had been when he woke again but it was dark as his eyes snapped open, flickers of light dancing across the ceiling and it took him a moment to understand the light had come from him. 

This was the end, it had finally come for him. 

Imelda wasn't here. 

He gasped in pain, his bones loosely rattling as another wave of light threatened to take him apart. 

Then another and another. 

He pinched his eyes closed and tried to focus, trying to hold onto the good memories. He remembered Imelda's soft body against his own as they swayed to the music, the smell of her perfume and the sound of her laugh, Coco's delighted squeals as she played with her toys in the other room. 

He should of known he wasn't quite awake anymore, but he couldn't find it in himself to care, in that moment he was safe home in Santa Cecilia and together with his girls, and nothing was ever going to separate them again.


End file.
